


Fortitude

by CharlemagneGryffis



Series: Teddy Lupin versus The Multiverse [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adopted Teddy Lupin, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Best Friends, Canon-Typical Violence, Elf Culture & Customs, Elf/Human Relationship(s), F/M, Families of Choice, Gen, Genderfluid Teddy Lupin, Half-Elves, Half-Siblings, Immortality, Loving Marriage, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Marriage of Convenience, Middle Earth, Non Canonical Immortal, Non-Canon Relationship, Not Canon Compliant, Step-Brothers, Step-parents, Step-siblings, have a kid with your best friend au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 05:46:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9058237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlemagneGryffis/pseuds/CharlemagneGryffis
Summary: The life and times of Teddy Lupin: in Arda.





	

The castle festered with dark magic, and the house elves at first didn’t have courage, and cried at the sight of it. Then, she brings them out of their misery by holding up her wand and lights it for the first time in weeks – for the dark forest they had just left had leeched magic from her, and all her happy emotions, as if the air and the trees themselves were living dementors. The house-elves suffered worse than she, and they’d lost some, in the first few days, before they’d fortified themselves. She had more than enough magic to share with her bonded servants and friends.

However, lighting her wand brings nastier beings to their attention, but destroying those spiders in the forest had taken strength and willpower she hadn’t known she possessed – so it was a paltry matter for her to use the sword of Godric Gryffindor to fight them off, poisoning them in one swipe and letting her house-elves claw at their screaming bodies. The castle is difficult to clear fully though. A presence clings to the walls, and after banishing it, she has barely any strength at all. She uses the last of her lucidity to cast simple wards that while wouldn’t hold up very well, would deter any of lesser minds, and keep away that which would kill them in their sleep.

Not that house-elves needed sleep.

When she wakes, it’s been several days, and her house-elves have been at work, caring for her and putting the castle to rights. What wildlife that had grown and died had been torn away, house-elf magic the only thing keeping the stones standing while other house-elves broke down crumbling walls to replace loose and lost bricks that would keep the castle where it stood, until she awoke.

“It’ll be a lot of work,” she said, consuming what little water and food they had left, before getting to work. It was a lot of work, and many times she was interrupted by spiders, and the dark presence that tried to invade the castle once more. But she didn’t put up with it, and banished it once again – and then again, and again, and then again, with the added bonus of destroying at least six legions of horrid, disgusting creatures that would mutilate themselves for extra armour. The castle is rebuilt, her defences fortified. The house-elves help her create the ward-stone, and then she begins dealing with the surrounding forest and plains nearby that are cut off from anywhere else due to high hills, rocks, and a large river edged with thick trees that aren’t so thick on the other side – especially as they near her castle.

She decides to make a loch, joining into that river from two different places, after watching for a few years and seeing no wildlife or people that would use it for their own gain.

The loch separates her castle from the forest even more, and the trees that they dig up are renewed, cared for and transplanted inside the castle grounds as she changes her mind about the plans for it. She expands outwards, and downwards, using stone and magic to expand the castle in two directions, the loch becoming one of the main defences against any that would wish to use the pillars underneath the expanded section to destroy or otherwise invade her castle, as the obvious weak link that they were.

Well.

At least, to the non-magical eye, they’re weak links.

In truth, she enchants them too, wards them with their own special ward-stone, and even creates a dock beneath, in the open space, creating an archway large enough for a hundred-foot tall ship to enter the port, and for two to fit. That’s a favourite architectural moment for her, as she digs deeper into the mountain her castle is set on, and makes that gleaming space that matches her castle above. Her house-elves are happy to help her and applaud when they’re done, though less happy when she decides to focus on her castle again. More floors, more staircases and luxurious, labyrinthine corridors. Convoluted routes to get from one end of the castle to the other are her favourites, and she revels in getting lost somewhere familiar, without fear.

There’s not much fun in the outside world for an immortal being who’s afraid of going outside.

Maybe it’s why she lets them get so close – the elves, she means. They find their way to her castle, wary and carrying loaded bows, as she watches them through a scrying crystal from behind a corner, near her open front doors. She leaves them open on purpose, despite her house-elves’ protestations. The elves approach, and she lets them see through the wards finally, and they gasp, stepping back.

They hadn’t missed the loch forming, and they’d visited the area before, but she’d been too shy to tell them it was _her_ doing back then. Now she’s ready though. She can talk to people. She can…socialise.

_There’s nothing wrong with talking to strangers,_ she remembers her father saying to her on Platform Nine and Three Quarters. _Chin up, now._

“Chin up,” she repeats, before putting the scrying crystal in her pocket, standing straight and brushing off her cloak, walking confidently around the corner, up three steps, through the grate-door, to walk past the open, glossy black doors to her castle, that reached over a dozen feet above her head. She looks out on the elves, who stare at her in awe, before the blondest of them steps forth, and speaks.

Speaks complete gibberish.

“What?” The witch blinks, startled, boggled by the strange tongue escaping his mouth. “You don’t speak English?” _So much for making friends!_ She grits her teeth, and glares at her wrists, tugging at her sleeves, straight back curving, shoulders dropping. “Should have known.”

The elf who had spoken steps forwards again, feet slapping on the bridge. He puts his arrow away, holding his bow in one hand, other touching his chest.

“ _Legolas Thranduilion. Adar na-Thranduil,_ ” his hand moves, pointing to his closest companion, a female elf. “ _Tauriel, nin mellon. Vidariel, hen Adar, dol-o i-arat tiril._ ” He motions to the man behind her, who looks rather similar to her, and then gestures to the witch, who frowns lightly as the elves fall silent, waiting.

She looks back at her castle: to where Blinky stands in the shadow, where Dipper peeps a bright green eye through an archer’s slit, where Maggy hides inside a fern decorating the first inner courtyard. All watching with worry, all waiting for her orders.

She turns back to the elves, who are still waiting, silent, and steps forwards, heels clicking on the smooth grey stone of her castle bridge. She walks, and walks, until she is only a few metres away from the blonde elf-man who watches her with still, grey-blue eyes.

“…greetings, Legolas, Tauriel, others.” The witch nods her head to each party, before pausing, motioning to Legolas. “Your name is Legolas, Legolas Thranduilion…son of Thranduil?” She hesitates, fear clawing at her heart, lungs, making it hard to breathe. She motions to herself, hand shaking, leather gloves brushing against her own pale throat.

“My name is Teddy Lupin. I- My name is Teddy Lupin… _adar na-Remus Lupin?_ ”

Legolas’ face lights up in a smile that is difficult not to match, “Teddy _Remusion_.”

“ _Remusion_ , yes,” Teddy beams, before laughing, waving. “Hello, Legolas. Greetings.”

“Hello, Teddy,” he gives a short bow, then points at her castle, “ _Teddy_ _o-Dol Guldur?_ ”

“ _Dol_ _Guldur?_ ” Teddy tilts her head, not understanding. Legolas hesitates, before Tauriel steps up behind him, speaking rapidly in their strange tongue. He frowns slightly, then nods, holding out his hand. Tauriel looks to another of their party, snapping an order – or, to Teddy it sounds like an order – and then in turn take a roll of parchment from a bag, giving it to Tauriel, who gives it to Legolas – who in turn, holds it out to Teddy.

To her credit, Teddy is only a little wary, and slowly takes it, unrolling the parchment…only to find a map. Eyes widening, Teddy stares, turning to the bridge wall and walking over, using subtle sticking magic to hold each of the corners as she studies it. Legolas joins her, watching as she studies it, taking in the first geographical example of the land she now lives in. He eventually points to the bottom section of a large forest-land, which has been roughly edited with chalk and thin ink to create a large, thin body of water that enlarges in size as it enters the forest. Teddy’s smiles at the size of it, pointing to a small piece of type where she would guess was her castle.

“ _Dol Guldur,_ ” Legolas murmurs, and it takes a second, before Teddy understands.

“Oh…my castle had a name already,” she murmurs under her breath. “I don’t like it.” Legolas, while not understanding English, does seem to understand her basic sentiments as she makes a face.

“ _Amon Lanc_ ,” he says to her, “ _Amon Lanc ben Dol Guldur._ ” Teddy glances at him, frowning lightly, for she believes he sounds as if he is offering her a choice. She decides it must be, for he seems waiting for an answer in her opinion.

“ _Amon_ _Lanc_ , Castle Amon.” To make it clear, she points at her castle. “My castle name is Castle Amon.” She watches him for a moment, then repeats her introduction. “My name is Teddy Lupin.” She puts her finger on his chest. “Your name is Legolas.” She points at her castle. “My castle name is Castle Amon.”

Legolas’ eyes brighten somewhere in the middle of her explanation, but another smile appears at the end. He looks to his compatriots, grinning.

“ _Ha na-ú Amon Lanc ben Dol Guldur – ha na-Castle Amon hi!_ ” He turns back to Teddy, pointing at the map, pressing a finger to the loch. “Name is?”

Teddy raises her eyebrows, eyes widening. “Uh…I don’t know, um…” she flounders, before shrugging, waving her hands. “I just call it the loch…” She makes an exaggerated effort with her movements, motioning to him steadily, nodding. “You name it.”

Legolas seems to get the gist as his eyes widen even wider than Teddy’s had. “ _Nin?_ _Ú-cin?_ ”

“You name it,” Teddy repeats firmly, feeling all of a sudden as if Legolas was much younger than she – it wouldn’t be hard, given her centuries, unless he was an elf with longevity, like in Harry’s muggle stories. Looking back at the map, Teddy takes out her wand, tapping where chalk and ink messed the map with new additions. Carefully, she fixes it all so it resembles the original map, unaware until she’s finished that Legolas and his elven friends are staring at her. “What?”

“ _Istar…_ ”

“A star? What-”

“ _Ba, ba, **istar** ,_” Legolas corrects her, “ _I-star._ ”

“Istar,” Teddy murmurs, twirling her wand. “I prefer wix, or witch, or wizard when I’m feeling masculine.” She doesn’t freak them out by changing appearance. She’s felt comfortable in her body for decades now, and doesn’t feel the urge to morph much. Even involuntary morphing has become a rarity, what with her impeccable control. In truth, she misses it, but with having great power for a long time comes having great emotional stability, especially after so long.

Legolas, at her mutterings, looks back to his people, seemingly having a conversation of great seriousness. Teddy tries to follow along, but it’s still another language, and she recognises none of the adjectives, or name-places – she wouldn’t, if the map was correct. So, instead she studies it, and sends a little tiny mental message to Bicky to come invisibly. He does, and in his invisibility, she asks him to create a copy of the map and put it over her fireplace in the kitchen. He does, and leaves just as Legolas turns back to Teddy, circling the upper two thirds of the forest before tapping a place within the most northern sector, with its own little nametag and picture of what looks like a mountain.

“ _Tul na-I arnad o-nin Adar, Thranduil._ ” He points at her, then makes a ‘come hither’ gesture that causes Teddy to take a sudden step back, fearful.

“I don’t want to leave my castle,” she shakes her head voraciously, and it seems that is the end of Blinky’s patience, as she _pops_ into existence between them, glaring at Legolas – who jumps back, his companions drawing their bows again.

“ _Ceri ú-ped na-Híril Lupin,_ ” she growls, and Teddy’s eyes widen.

“Blinky, you speak elvish?”

“Lady Lupin is silly for not calling Blinky to helps Lady Lupin,” she grumbles, glowering at the other elves, “Elves’ words the same as house-elves’ words. _Híril Lupin na-sillui, warui o-núr, he na-ereb. Nin est-na Blinkui._ ”

Legolas looks between Blinky and Teddy warily, before speaking with caution. “ _Ier lle-cin glamhoth?_ ”

“ _Glamhoth? Glamhoth!_ ” Blinky seemed to rage, as if his words were an insult, “ _Est-nin orqu, whui cin-_ ”

“Blinky, calm down,” Teddy snaps at her servant, who immediately goes silent. “What did he say?”

“He- elf-boy calls me a _goblin!_ No better than name me orc!” Blinky raises his hands, and the elves are pushed back with a wave of magic, off the bridge and some even hitting the treeline. “Elf-boy and his friends stay away from Lady Lupin’s castle!”

“We’re calling it Castle Amon, now,” Teddy interjects as they stand up, shooting arrows at Blinky – but all they did was reflect off the wards that Teddy raised again, only missing the illusion wards, for they had no use now.

“Elf-boy and his friends stay away from Castle Amon – _dorth-awaui uin-Cardhon o-nin Híril! Amon Cardhon-na-I arnad o-nin-Híril!_ ”

“That’s enough, Blinky,” Teddy kneels down by her friend, hand resting on his shoulder. “Enough, please. They’re going, look.” And they are leaving, it’s true. The two of them watch the elves leave in a hurry, and Teddy looks back at the map they left. “Would you be able to translate the map into English for me, so I can read the writing and the name-places?”

Blinky grumbles, but nods, “Kaba is looking already. She very much likes the map over the fire in kitchens. Lady Lupin should go inside castle – Blinky will tell other house-elves new castle name.”

“Okay, thank-you,” Teddy says, before standing straight, taking the map from the bridge wall and returning to her castle – to Castle Amon. _Blinky called it Amon Cardhon._ Teddy finds she quite likes it. “Amon Cardhon. _Amen carr-don_. Amon Cardhon. Castle Amon.”

The elves visit again, periodically. They like to scout her perimeter, and across the loch her house-elves have spotted small boats, investigating the new depths and even bringing in wildlife, fertilising the lakebed. They don’t approach her until they’re halfway over, sending out a small envoy which is greeted by Blinky, who seems to have taken it upon himself to be her ambassador. Contracts are made in a scripture that Kaba is slowly teaching her to understand, but it’s taking time, and Teddy has other things to do now that she’s making herself known.

For one, she is destroying any and all dark creatures she comes across in the southern forest – in _her_ forest, which she has claimed for herself. _It’s my land_ , she says to Blinky, when a tall blonde elf wearing a crown of autumn leaves comes to her gate, a new addition to her now bordered lands, which sits around her entire forest, and reaches a little into either side of the loch.

Said loch is finally named, and she has named it, calling it the Veil Loch – Veilloch if she was feeling lazy – or, in Elvish, _Fána_ - _Ael_ – _Fánael_ if she was, once again, being lazy about pronunciation – the two rivers running into what she learns is called ‘the Anduin’ becoming known as ‘ _I Dún Duin o-Lorien’_ and ‘ _I Acharn Iách o-Celebrant’_ respectively, taken from the surrounding areas such as Lothlorien and the Fields of Celebrant, in English meaning ‘the West River of Lorien’ and ‘the South Fjord of Celebrant’. The difference in names, Teddy values, is because the river runs from the _Anduin_ into the Loch of Souls, and the fjord runs from the Loch of Souls _to_ the Anduin, and the exiting water creates a rather…rushing effect. If they had white water rafting, she’d do it in the fjord, not the river, just to make things clearer.

…which wasn’t a bad idea, when Teddy thought on it.

Beneath Castle Amon in the docks, she gets some practice swimming, and manages to hold her breath for more than a minute underwater consecutively, before deciding on how to construct her kayak. She at first conjures it, but as always, the plastic she envisions doesn’t appear – it never does in this world. Eventually, after much thought, she chops down a straight tree, and makes many different types of one-man boats, as well as a sturdy house-elf boat, that would take six of them to move by hand, if they decide not to use magic. Creating handmade lifejackets for them and for herself is a task, however, but eventually she uses driftwood, using magic to make hollow pockets in thicker pieces, which she uses hardy rope Blinky traded with the elves from the east side of the loch, who came from the Anduin, to tie together.

Her volunteers from her house-elves are surprisingly many, and once she gets them outfitted, they take to paddling around in the loch, even diving. When the fish population grows as the migrate from the Anduin, and bears set themselves up around the West River, they even take to fishing, and fish-breeding. Birds make nests in the rock-face beneath the castle, and her house-elves get the idea to convert the wide living space she’d set up to them in the lower floors of the castle, and a little outside it into a greenhouse, creating their own burrows and homes and _families_ in the rockface too, hidden from sight where only the birds could reach. They begin to take initiative, and Teddy can’t be happier for them, glowing with pride her aunt had instilled in her from a young age when seeing house-elves make their own lives.

At some point, between her explorations up and down the Anduin, when Teddy gets some more courage, during her expedition to the Grey Mountains – where she crippled a population of orcs and their adorable feral wargs – all the way down from Emyn Muil – which she discovers is a lifeless set of crags, that borders simple marshland, which is terribly boring – they form some sort of bond with the birds they share homes with, and when she returns to Castle Amon…well, let’s just say, it becomes the usual sight for her to see those house-elves which didn’t work inside her castle during their average day, to have some form of bird fluttering around their shoulders. Though, after her return, she does have to deal with a distinct _lack_ of house-elves, too.

The brave ones copy her route, up and down the Anduin, and even venture further out into the wilderness. When she finally has a full catalogue of all her house-elves again, many more things have been brought to Castle Amon…not all of which, Teddy was sure she would have agreed to before her servants made independence amongst themselves an expectation, rather than a dream.

Eventually, the map that Legolas left behind with her was remade, draped across a tall, two-story wall in what Teddy jokingly calls her throne room, occasionally, replacing all but six shelves of books – for it had been a library to her too. Much of castle Amon was a library, to tell the truth.

Books were one of the few things Teddy thought to bring with her from her old world, saving the Great Library of Hogwarts and the House of Black’s sacred, unique texts from destruction during the Wizarding World War against the resurrected Dark Lord’s and High Priestesses of Old: Grindelwald, Voldemort, Herpo the Foul, Morgause, Freya of Avalon and Nimue. Each had come with evil intent, no matter their original purpose, and Teddy and her house-elves were the few that escaped their wrath.

The map itself was actually a tapestry, magical in nature and therefore enchanted, animated with faux life. The rivers ran, and the trees swayed. Anchoring it to the world had taken time and magic, but Teddy doesn’t regret the few days she was unconscious, for the map shows the truth of the matter – the currents of both water and wind, the terrible bubbling of Mount Doom, storm clouds and lightning over the Misty Mountains, the waves of the sea as they lap the shore of the Grey Havens.

Teddy swears to herself that she will look upon the sea again, that she’ll travel the furthest she’s ever travelled east just to smell salt in the air again.

She distracts herself with a personal endeavour. A new type of Middle Earth creature makes itself known to her, loping in giant bear form to her loch and investigating her castle from the ground up, ignoring the bridge and invading – if you could call it that – through her docks. She allows the giant of a woman to explore her castle, large enough by far to accommodate her. Eventually, the shapeshifter finds her in what her house-elves truly do call her throne room now, and she sits on a velvet wingback, watching the woman sniff the air, raising an eyebrow.

“You smell of magic.”

And _oh,_ it feels so good inside to be talked to in English. Teddy almost has a heart attack, and indeed, chokes on her wine.

“How- what- the elves- English- you speak-”

“Save your breath, warlock,” the woman advises, “Form a coherent sentence.”

“My apologies,” Teddy stands, and approaches, black silken dress scraping the floor, diamonds brushing stone. Maggy had refused to let her see the intruder in anything less than what she wore now, majestic and beautiful. She barely reaches the giant’s chest, but she still offers her hand to shake, which the shapeshifter does. “My name is Teddy, Teddy Lupin. Or Theadore. Or Lady Lupin. Or Mánrís – that’s what the elves call me. It means spirit queen, apparently, for I appear as often as a ghost does to their eyes – not very often at all. Call me whatever you like.”

“I shall call you Little River, for that is from where your Helpers have been seen. They do much in their travels, and reveal little to nothing about themselves, except for what we can smell. Magic surrounds them like a cloud, and that magic has led me and many others here.”

“Others? Do they speak this language too?”

“Aye, they do, Little River, do not fear. I come in the name of my clan, to gauge the danger of settling here. Our clan leader, Beorne, has given up much hope, and defends the clan with his great might, but he is old and his spirit weak from fighting so much against the orcs. Your Helpers saved the life of me and mine, against goblins and orcs that would take our children, and left before we could thank them.”

“Oh, oh I didn’t know – Emmi!” Teddy calls, and Emmi _pops_ beside her, behind the shadow of her dress, so that the woman might not see her so clearly. “Emmi, which house-elves saved the clan of shapeshifters?”

“Shapeshifters? Does Lady Lupin mean the animal-people protecteds by bear-people?”

“Yes, Emmi,” Teddy replies patiently, “Were you one of them?” Emmi shakes her head rapidly, glancing curiously at the tall shapeshifter woman.

“Would Lady Lupin want Emmi to goes fetch them?”

“Yes, please.”

Emmi nods rapidly, before disappearing, causing the shapeshifter to make a sound of appreciation.

“Indeed, your Helpers are strange creatures.”

“They called themselves house-elves, when we first met, though they form their own council and approach me with alternatives that have not yet been decided on,” Teddy explains, “They were servants-” _slaves_ “-to witches and wizards. You called me warlock before. Warlock is a term we use for the ultimate sorcerer, rather than witch or wizard, or wix…I think this world calls them _Istari_.”

The shapeshifter nods at that, understanding entering her eyes, “Aye, that would be it. You say you are not a warlock, then?”

“No, simply a witch,” Teddy holds her own hands tightly, staring. “What might your name be, then?”

“I am Brynhilde,” the shapeshifter comes down on one knee, and finally let’s go of Teddy’s hand from their previous greeting, “I am a shapeshifter, of the Bear Clan, formerly of the Misty Mountains before orcs made their home there and took over Moria. My clan has moved, and have only survived because of your Helpers. I would call for clemency, an alliance. Your stone walls keep out everything but that which swims the loch, I have seen with my own eyes. Human hunters south of the Greenwood have tried, and have failed.”

“I’ve felt them,” Teddy reveals with a slight frown.

“My people would settle in your lands, in the shadows of Greenwood, instead of the shadows of Mirkwood, which now people call the northern Greenwood, where the wood-elves reside and fight Ungoliant’s children with little success. The Dark Lord of Mordor fights for control of the wood, and has already turned his attention on the Istar Radagast – he sleeps now, in the care of the elves, deep in their rock-hewn home, and his attentions to the warlock summon dark creatures.”

Teddy’s heart leaps at her words, worry for this other wizard – warlock, istar – permuting her being. _I cannot leave such a darkness here in this wood, for it could only be that which I banished from Castle Amon upon my arrival._ She nods, almost unconsciously, before Emmi reappears, with little under half a dozen house-elves under her command, who squeak at the sight of Brynhilde.

“This is Brynhilde, a shapeshifter,” she introduces, “and you all helped save the lives of her clan recently. She offers you thanks for whatever you did.” Titters echo through the room, before Jerry steps forwards with an expression of determination.

“We does not need thanksing. We help because we is supposed to help.”

Brynhilde, however, lowered her head. “Indeed, your goodness is true, if you do not accept this praise. We are at you and yours’ service.” Immediately, Jerry went bright green, blushing profusely.

“Oh n-n-no, we’s- we’s don’t- don’t needs thanking, Missies Brynhilde.”

Teddy stroked his head, being careful not to dislodge his flower crown, as he stuttered out his reply, looking between the five of them. “You saved their lives. Conveying gratitude is normal, remember. I say thank-you all the time and you don’t mind it from me.”

“But you is ours mistress!” Garlie cried out in a high-pitched, squeaky voice, bond-bird chirping its agreement. “We cans ignore you because we takes cares of you!”

Teddy flushed a little at their words, looking back at the amused Brynhilde, deciding to change the topic. “So when does your clan plan to get here, then?”

“I shall return to them, and we shall arrive by the end of the month – there are more than just bears within our clan, with our low numbers, and they cannot travel as fast nor as quietly as us. Hunters shall be our bane, man and orc, and elflings who do not know the difference, when patrolling.”

“Jerry and his band can accompany you,” Teddy decides at her words, to the excitement and embarrassment of the saviour house-elves. “They’ve done a pretty good job at their jobs, might as well give them some more experience in it.” Turning swiftly to the window opposite the Great Map, Teddy strides over to the balcony doors, swinging them open and looking out on the loch, eyes sweeping over it to the boundary wall. With some quick thought and a blast of magic, the wall crumbles and warps, twisting and changing shape, until a large archway only a little taller than the wall itself was in existence.

“There. I’ll accompany you and the house-elves to it, and create a gate. I’ll give you a password, and you must _not_ ,” she snapped her head to glare at Brynhilde. “You must _not_ say it out loud until you have to open the gate. It’ll stay open until you go through, and then it will not open again until I give you a new password. If you say the password and open the gate, and you are not within a hundred yards, it will shut within ten seconds, and it will not open again. The wards will not let you through a second time freely.”

“I understand,” Brynhilde stands, nodding her head. “My gratitude.”

“No problem,” Teddy says lowly, returning inside and motioning to Jerry and his band. “Jerry will lead you out of the castle, using the front door this time. Emmi, you will inform the rest of the house-elves that we will be hosting the Bear Clan, and to begin preparations of that village we planned out for the north side of the lake – except enlarge everything by three, or to whatever measure you deem appropriate for someone Brynhilde’s size.”

“Yes Lady Lupin,” Emmi and Jerry say in unison, before rushing off, Emmi _popping_ away and the other house-elves speed-walking towards the exit. Brynhilde follows them, and Teddy subtly places a tracking charm on her and the most magically-clouded house-elf of the group, a small female called Carrot. She stays in her throne room until they reach the bridge, then joins them, pausing to slightly over-charge the wards around Castle Amon, as she did a few decades before when she first left to travel the Anduin.

They travel through the elven woods – _the_ _Greenwood_ , Brynhilde corrects with amusement, _there are many elven woods in Arda_ – along the wide stone path that Teddy had laid herself little under a century ago, personally. It winds, following natural waves, but avoiding dips and creating a flat plane. It’s not used for much, as no-one travels in Teddy’s part of the Greenwood on foot. Animals use the road more than she does. Kipper even shared plans to buy cattle and horses from Rohan, which would use the road whenever they changed feeding grounds.

Teddy has no idea what cattle and horses eat except grass, so Kipper was forced to forgive her when she questioned over whether to put them in the grassland surrounding the loch. Apparently, that would be farmland and townland.

Such kinds of area were ones they travelled through as they walked by the loch, the house-elves of the land – rather than the castle – already building and putting together the foundations for barns, houses, and a town hall.

“We would have been perfectly fine living on the land,” Brynhilde muses when they pass them, unemotional about the entire ordeal. “Beorne likes houses though.” That seems to settle the matter, and when they reach the First Archway, as the shapeshifter grandly names it, Teddy slows to a halt and watches them leave. When they are out of sight, she creates the gate – as tall as a three-story house, and as wide as two, with bright steel holding together three-foot thick wood. The lock is simple – two bolts that magically lock together, curling and melting together.

The house-elves clap as she causes the archway over its head to melt into words, proclaiming itself to be the Amon Archway, First Gate to Tower Village.

“Keep on building, make a town – theme it mainly brown and teal, with some grey-blue colour,” she orders her house-elves quietly, before turning to the loch and creating a dock identical to the one below Castle Amon. Other house-elves not so busy with the town, she can see, watch from their places on the water, in boats as they fish, crab and wait for divers to return. On the other side of the loch-line – easily visible yet transparent in its existence – two elves seeing to the newest-introduced water-flora look on them in confusion.

_Come investigate, I dare you, come see who I am and meet with the Lady of Amon Cardhon._ She had never met any elves from Lothlorien – the only elves at all she had ever interacted with had been Legolas and his troupe, all those years ago. _I wonder if he’s dead._ She’d never found out whether the elves of this world had long lives. As it was, her original elves were only half-way through their lives, on average, most being either three hundred or one hundred and fifty. A house-elf was lucky to live to five hundred.

She returns to Castle Amon, waiting. The shapeshifters come, and the house-elves make sure they’re settled in before introducing them to the farmlands, and a charter which they would abide by if they wished to remain in Tower Village, made clear by the bell-tower she has made soon after their arrival, with the tenants written in the walls of the building beneath it, where they could hide in times of danger – however unlikely that may be. Soon, Teddy becomes used to the echoing clang of the high bells, which ring once, each in succession before the sun rises, once when it does, at midmorning, midday, mid-afternoon, and sundown.

Only once in the next decade does she hear the deep, deep bell that wake her from slumber and summons the house-elves to shapeshifter town, as a home bursts into flame in the deep of the night. The next morning, she meets Kaion, the youngest granddaughter of Chief Beorne, and natural pyromancer. Teddy gains a student, and for the next twenty years, she hosts Kaion in Castle Amon, until she can control her powers so easily that it’s like breathing. And when Kaion finally leaves, there’s a hole in her chest that she can’t shake, until she holds the youngest elleth of Greenwood in her arms for a precious second at Mereth-en-Gilith that next year during the Dance of Stars.

Because before Kaion even showed her magic, before the shapeshifters had even settled into Tower Village, Teddy had banished the Dark Lord Sauron from Mirkwood, removed his leeching grasp from around Radagast the Brown, and became an _elf-friend_ and personal acquaintance to Thranduil Oropherion.

“ _I want my own_ ,” she murmurs in Sindarin as she stares up at the ceiling of Thranduil’s palace. “ _Is that odd? Wrong?_ ”

“ _Maybe, maybe not. Maia are a strange species that would never have children for fear that they would outgrow them, if they could even conceive both said child and the actual notion, but you are not one of them. Therefore, I can only assume that until you do, you will not know whether it is an odd urge. However, it is never wrong to want a child, so do not fear them._ ”

Teddy twists, sitting up straight, staring at the elven king. Then, before his eyes, she lets the morph that she has held for centuries fall, thankful for that today, she had chosen a simple robe set, that billowed and didn’t cling. He stares at the elven king, and Teddy wishes that he hadn’t done it, for Thranduil looks at Teddy in fear.

“ _Is it wrong now? For me to want my own child when I myself would be the one with them in my belly, even with my true gender being that of a man?_ ”

“… _no_ ,” Thranduil says, shocked voice the only sound between them for some time – a time within that Teddy morphs back into her preferred female form. “ _The maiar are not truly men. They are gods, almost, beings of immense power tucked into forms of their own choice. You have the liberty- no, the gift of changing how you see fit, within a blink of an eye. The maiar are not so lucky._ ”

“ _Was your wife beautiful?_ ” Teddy asks, after another bout of silence. “ _Legolas does not remember her – I have asked before. He does not recall her face nor even her voice. He misses her dearly._ ”

“ _I will always miss her more than my son, unfortunately. I have the burden of having known her, having loved her, having spent thousands of years with her before our parting._ ”

“ _Would you marry again?_ ”

“ _Elves only love once,_ ” he dismisses, causing her to frown.

“ _But would you_ marry _again?_ ”

“ _What’s the difference?_ ” Thranduil eyes her oddly, before his positioning changes, face taking on a long-worn expression of tiredness. “ _You are of man, I forget – in elvish custom, the act of intercourse is true marriage, and only those who love marry._ ”

“Oh… _oh_ ,” Teddy’s eyes widen, “I didn’t know. So, if you get married by having sex-”

“ _You speak in the language of shapeshifters again, my friend,_ ” Thranduil interrupts, “ _I thought we agreed to speak in Sindarin while here, in my home?_ ”

“ _Apologies, I forgot,_ ” Teddy scratches behind her ear, embarrassed, “ _So, you have sex and you’re married. And that’s that? So, it’s prohibited, otherwise?_ ”

“ _Indeed, you pick up on these things quickly_ ,” he says with slight humour, prompting Teddy to poke his calf as he looks down on her from his throne, before she flops back down onto her back.

“ _What if you’re doing someone a favour, like having a kid with them, but, not getting married? Can you do that, if you don’t tell anyone?_ ”

“ _Not if you’re an elleth_ ,” Thranduil says slowly, carefully, eyeing her. “ _Theadore, I would advise against any thought in that direction. No elf would tie themselves to you simply so you could have a babe._ ”

“ _It wouldn’t be like that – Merlin, in my culture things weren’t so complex,_ ” Teddy glares at the ceiling, “ _Elrond Peredhil and Arwen Undomiel are immortal beings, despite their human blood. I’m immortal because of outside factors, not because of my species. If I had a child who was half-elven…_ ”

“ _I know it is hard,_ ” Thranduil says softly, “ _but you cannot ask anyone this question. To do so…would you even let them be their father?_ ”

“Of course I would!” Teddy glares at him, before returning to elvish. “ _If I was a parent, and the father wished to help raise them, then they’ll damn help. Children are precious, and there’s so many things that they need – I was in school when my brothers and sisters were so young, I didn’t get to see them grow up from that kind of age from a mature perspective. I have Helpers, but that’s not what my child would need._ ”

Thranduil looks down at her balefully, “ _You have thought on this at greater length than I realised._ ” He stares, and Teddy doesn’t let up. She became this- this _being_ , when Harry didn’t have the balls, for Circe and Hekate – she can stare down a damn elf king! “ _I’ll do it._ ”

It doesn’t register for at least another second.

Then-

_What?_

“You- _what will you do?_ ”

Thranduil comes down off his throne, seating himself on the raised platform where she now sits up on. His hands come to her face, caressing her cheeks and brushing across her nose. Teddy stares, hair fluctuating, going bright pink and yellow and green before settling on her old, turquoise blue, framing her face. Thranduil leans forwards, their cheeks connecting in a way that feels… _intimate._

“Thranduil?” She whispers, sensing a presence across the palace watching them, through the open air and to somewhere-

He distracts her by pressing their lips together. Teddy melts, hands coming to clutch his robes tightly even as his lips gently slip across her own. She leans in, barely remembering what to do, every movement he makes reminding her, prompting her to do something different. She barely thinks, the fact that there was someone watching slipping away like water in her hands. He holds her tighter, and when they part after what seems like a thousand years, Teddy stares at the king, wondering…

“Why would you do that? Why would you kiss me?” And then she repeats the questions in Sindarin, dumbly, waiting for his answer. He stares at her a little longer, the wind whistling through the palace.

“ _You are my friend, and even after so short a time knowing you, it hurts to see you tormented so. If you would have me, I would provide for you in this endeavour._ ”

“ _But doesn’t that- wouldn’t that mean…_ ”

“ _Like you said, Theadore, it wouldn’t be like that._ ”

Teddy thinks that he’s crazy, that he’s taking it too far – but he isn’t, he’s just…he’s doing something unexpected. Teddy doesn’t _know_ him. And he’s offering to be her baby-daddy. She doesn’t know what to do. Maybe in a fantasy novel, she might say yes, or no, but it’s not a choice someone takes lightly.

Instead, she says, “ _Give me some time to think on it, please. What you’re offering…it’s worth more than gold, more than anything._ ”

Thranduil nods, and presses another kiss to the corner of her lips, before standing and striding off, leaving Teddy to apparate back to Castle Amon. She wants to stay in her castle until she can decide, but she’s restless, and she wants _out_.

So she goes, and oh, she travels – takes a full century to decide, sending home letters and packages to Amon Cardhon, Brynhilde and Beorne, and Thranduil and Legolas. When Thranduil is able to answer her, his reply is always followed by, _my offer still stands._ She goes to the east first. She fights orcs and terrible mutations, she learns how to pilot a sailboat from the people of Rhûn, and begins a partnership with the Iron Hills, inviting merchants, the homeless, and uprooted Ereborians to come live and trade in her kingdom.

Because apparently there’s a dragon in the Lonely Mountain, that invaded some time during her tutoring of Kaion.

Not that the Ereborians come, but the homeless and a couple of traders take a chance, having heard of her mystical Helpers, who have decided on using the shapeshifters’ name for them in her absence. She gives them a direction, and calls Mipsy to guide and protect them from dangers, giving her permission to call the Watch if necessary – the Watch being a legion of Helpers split into four squads, dedicated to defending the innocent against orcs and goblins, who like to regularly test their mettle against the goblins of the Misty Mountains who prey on the people travelling through.

Teddy makes a note to investigate this dragon, after she’s finished, especially since people are saying he’s _eating_ people. _He’s not a very nice dragon, that’s for certain._

She journeys west, and finds herself first in the same orc stronghold she’d crippled years before, at the edge of the Grey Mountains. They’d somehow repopulated to such an extent that they actually had to build some more buildings beside the crumbling stone fortress they inhabited. It was short work to utterly decimate the population there, and kill any and all orcs and wargs remaining. The only one that actually managed to hurt her was dealt with accordingly, and Teddy realised that – in her old age – she was getting a little too soft.

Therefore, she orders half her Helpers to take the fortress, and rebuild it to the standards of Castle Amon. It takes less than a decade to have it up and running, some of the skinchangers of Tower Village migrating from the safe haven she’d created to the – dwarven, she discovers – fortress, that Brynhilde calls ‘Mount Gundabad’.

Well, Teddy doesn’t like that name, does she? But she doesn’t really get the chance to rename it, as dwarves from Ered Luin and the Blue Mountains come and call it a sacred place, and basically order everyone to leave unless they’re there to protect it while dwarves reconstructed ancient murals and runes. Teddy wisely decides to slip out the back entrance as they proclaim this to Brynhilde, who says her people will stay and be their guard dogs, or guard bears, as it were, until they were at full strength again. Her Helpers are recalled, with the exception of three, which would claim guardianship of the silly, ignorant dwarves, as Brynhilde and hers would humour them.

She continues west, passing the Ettenmoors and North Downs, and visits the Ered Luin itself– which is packed full, until the minor mass exodus of around a third of the population to Mount Gundabad, discounting those from Erebor who had come in as refugees. Teddy gets the gist that there’s a lot of other dwarves from different mountains going too, so moves on – the dwarves are too busy for a curious witch on the prowl for adventure. So she goes to the sea, and it’s _beautiful_.

She nearly stows away on the ship that leaves the Grey Havens’ port, but forces herself not to. She can go on a sea voyage in the future.

Teddy goes east again at that, going to a place that had been drawing her attention for a while now, on her travels west. ‘The Shire’ is a pretty place, with rolling hills of green and gold, and its inhabitants are polite to the hundredth degree. Unfortunately, they’re rather…short. Teddy doesn’t want to call the hobbits ‘halflings’ like everybody else does – it sounds rude, for they aren’t half-beings, they aren’t half of anything! Teddy can’t find lodgings anywhere except in a rather short – as in, the personality trait, rather than the height trait, for he’s actually tall for a hobbit it seems – hobbit man, by the name of Bilbo Baggins.

At thirty-four, Bilbo is actually on the cusp of maturity – apparently, a hobbit comes of age at thirty-three. Bilbo’s parents died in the latest winter – a cold, fell thing that didn’t reach Castle Amon, according to Blinky, but effected many other areas in Arda, weather anywhere west of the Misty Mountains worse than even the weather of the Misty Mountains.

“Are you sure it’s alright to stay here, Master Bilbo?” Teddy questions softly in Westron, a tongue which has become more common for her to use than English, in recent years, kneeling on the carpet beside the fireplace, near Bilbo where he sits on his armchair.

“Oh, it’s perfectly fine, Miss Dora. Stay as long as you need,” he smiles slightly at her, eyes dim, before opening his book. Teddy looks away, opening her own.

For ten years, she does actually stay in the Shire, roaming occasionally, but always coming back to Bag-End. By calling herself twenty-three when she first arrived, and using an appearance to match, she had been able to win the hearts of many in Hobbiton, and Tookborough too. Acting young, she herself _feeling_ young, and subtly, unobtrusively pushing the hobbits to treat her like her age had them thinking her something of a fauntling herself. Most forgot just how old she was, comparing her to hobbit-folk, and for that, the Mayor of Michel-Delving declared Bilbo her guardian, to watch over her and guide her, and she his Ward, to learn from him and become the most well-mannered Big Folk.

It was funny, yet sad, for she was an adult in her own right – but this, having a home, a father, almost. It made the feelings of embarrassment, youth, irresponsibility, completely worth it.

But everything ends.

“Today, we come together to celebrate Dora Baggins’ thirty-third birthday, and wish her good luck on her future travels, as she returns to her homeland,” Bilbo raises his mug of ale, grinning, the crowd cheering. Teddy below him smiles softly. “Now, I know for a fact that a few hobbit lads are wanting to ask you for a dance tonight, Dora, so right now, I’m saying _no_ , no, no, no – she’s the daughter of my heart, and I’ll not have you ruining her birthday by asking her to dance!” a round of raucous laughter comes from older hobbits and younger lasses, as said hobbit lads flush and give Bilbo the stink-eye.

“Thanks, da,” she reaches up to take his hand, before standing herself. “I’d like to say a few words too, if that’s alright.”

“It’s your party, go right ahead,” Bilbo gives her the floor sitting down. Keeping in her own laugh, Teddy sits on the tabletop, so as to lower herself down – a practiced motion from after all her time in the Shire.

“I came to the Shire ten years ago, wandering, much like Gandalf the Grey, who comes each Midsummer with fireworks – though you have all been very sneaky about never letting me meet him, I am very aware of that.” Chuckles, smiles, unamused shakes of the head that she would acknowledge their actions. “You’ve all become dear to me, each in your own way – yes, even you Lobelia. You make better lemon meringue than even Mrs Pickett.”

“Damn straight!” Otho Sackville-Baggins wraps an arm around Lobelia, and Teddy rolls her eyes as Bilbo grumbles _silver spoons always go missing with her around._

“I’ve learnt so much from the Shire – I’ve learnt hobbit manners, how to look after a garden, how to set a table and all these other little things that were only really ever ingrained in my life when I was very small, and I’d since lost. Oh, and how to look after bees. I like bees now.” A smattering of chuckles. “I- I know secrets, and have earned the trust of people who think I deserve it. I’ve lost and gained habits, and so many things I do now without thinking, or things I don’t do anymore, are because I came here, and you all welcomed me into your lives – when da welcomed me into his life, and said I could stay as long as I needed.” Teddy smiles gratefully at him, at that, getting a short round of applause and a whoop, even.

“And so I honestly can’t believe it’s simply been ten years, as I’ve never spent so long in one place, outside my homes. But to tell you all the truth though, to be truly honest to you all here today – it’s not really my thirty-third birthday. I’m a little older than that.” There’s an absolute silence, and Teddy feels Bilbo’s hand on hers. She glances at him.

She told him yesterday.

“I was running from a lot of things, trying to figure things out, make decisions from choices offered to me – one of which, is whether or not I’m going to have a baby.” Mutters, whispers.

“What did you choose?” Esmerelda calls from the crowd. Similar questions follow, before Teddy answers.

“I will be. In a year or two from now, I’d think. I still have some more travelling to do, exploring. I’ll come visit when they’re older, bring them along so they can meet and spend time with their grandda, our relatives here. But this _will_ be my last night in the Shire – I’m going back to my kingdom. I’ve been told that I have some issues to resolve there.”

“Kingdom?” A fauntling cries out – a tween, Teddy corrects herself, as Primula makes herself known. “You’re a princess?”

“She’s a queen,” Bilbo answers for her, “We’ve all heard the stories filtering through, I suppose, growing up – of the Walled Lake and the two Greenwoods, South and North. Dora is Theadore Lupin, Queen of Amon Cardhon and the Veil Loch, Guardian of Shapeshifter Town and the Southern Greenwood. But she’s so much more than that, so much more than just- just a _queen_ of a land we’ve never seen. She’s Dora Baggins, my heart-child, and tonight, before she leaves, I am calling you all for a Replanting.”

Teddy has no idea what a replanting is in this context, but from the gasps and whispers and confusion from fauntlings, she guesses it’s something she might have actually learned on her real thirty-third birthday, if she had been a hobbit.

“A Replanting, Bilbo, really?” Farmer Cotton exclaims, “You think she’d even let you? She’s one of the Big Folk, and we’ve long lost our ability to make Big Folk forget, if she gets wet feet when the dirt flies over her face!”

“Don’t be so absurd, Cotton,” Donnamira scorns, “if Bilbo thinks she’d survive a Replanting in mind and body, then she’ll survive a Replanting! I’ll help! All the Tooks will help, if they know what’s good for them!”

Said Took family all shout things like “Aye” and “Of course!” and “Replant her!” and, of course, there’s a single an honest “I don’t know what a Replanting is”. Honestly, Teddy’s more interested in seeing what she’s supposed to ‘survive’, seeing as she’s immortal, than the actual matter at hand.

“The Thain needs to be called if there’s to be a Replanting, even if done all the correct procedures with this mini Shire Moot, and the Mayor,” Otho gets his word in.

“Good thing I’m already here,” says Fortinbras Took II, smiling thinly, before motioning with his pipe over to the sleeping Mayor by the ale. “The Mayor is here. And if my word if anything apart from Don’s, then aye, I’ll help with Dora’s Replanting. Who says _nay_ to the Replanting of Theadore Lupin, Queen of Amon Cardhon?”

There’s murmurs, and words, and Bilbo watches everyone with sharp eyes while Teddy looks on the gathering of hobbits with confused curiosity. But no-one says _nay_.

“It is decided then – Theadore will be Replanted in Yavanna’s good earth, and shall emerge blessed, a hobbit in her own right.”

And suddenly, Cotton’s comment about ‘dirt flying over her face’ makes a lot more sense to Teddy.

When she leaves the Shire the next day, she travels in her original form, the transfiguration of his body strange and permanent in a way that made his morphing seem fake – and also, hurt. It tingled under his skin, and needed time to settle, so let it settle he did.

Travelling to Bree, and then to Tharbad, where he heads east towards Moria – his map points out a gate to it, and he assumes, having no knowledge of the area, that it will lead to this ‘Drimrill Dale’, then to ‘Celebrant’, and Lothlorien. If his form settles by then, he plans to return to a more female façade, as he has worn for centuries – but perhaps with some…adjustments. Being Replanted has changed him, giving him solid feet with tough soles, and a thicket of hair much similar to that on top of his head, which prevents him from using shoes; it gives him wavier locks, where before thousands and tiny curls much similar to his dreaded Aunt Bellatrix’s had taken root; it gives him an ability to go unnoticed in front of all who he would wish to hide from.

It’s actually rather strange how good hobbits naturally are at hiding. It’s no small wonder of Teddy’s as to whether the wolves from the Fell Winter had been blessed themselves, with how well they found the hidden hobbits.

When he reaches Tharbad, he immediately calls for his Helpers, the small elves immediately getting to work – not even bothering to repair the bridge, rather, instead, tearing it down and building an entirely new one, and creating empty buildings upon the bridge itself, with clear purposes, for any that might wish to settle. Homes, mills, warehouses, stables on either end of the bridge, and shops of all different sizes – a market, even. The road itself on either side, one side being what people called the ‘Greenway’, towards the Shire, Teddy’s Helpers pave, or repave as it were.

Teddy doesn’t know why he does this – maybe it’s the Harry in him, wanting to help, especially when he _can_. The Helpers’ numbers are increasing in size, too. Teddy’s tempted to find some empty city and not tell them about it until he’s finished, and then go, _ta da, I made you a capitol to populate._ And he’s quite serious about it too – each Helper has at least a Weasley-size family time eight, and they reach adulthood after five years of growing. Not magical maturity, mind, he knows all too well. If he did create a city for them, he’d have to inhabit it for a few decades and set up wards that he’d have to overcharge quite regularly, to imbue magic into the building, to help them grow.

The last three letters he received from Beorne, from Tower Village, the shapeshifter each time suspected that the Helpers had built an underwater housing estate, which was apparently proved between letters two and three. Divers went _up_ rather than down when they went home every night – and those Helpers? Well, obviously you didn’t see them with birds anymore.

Nope.

Fish.

Diver Helpers bonded with fish – Helpers related to each other bonding with the same shoals.

Sighing to himself, Teddy continues along the road towards Moria, tipping his hat – offered by Mrs Applebee’s fauntling before he left the Shire – to passing Rangers who openly marvelled at the roads when they came off dirt-road tracks from the forest, which the Helpers didn’t touch unless they interfered with the road’s width or straightness. However, soon he himself goes off the road, and uses a _point-me_ with his soft ivory wand to reach the Moria gate.

When he finally reaches it, though, there’s a little surprise waiting for him – also known as a _giant squid monster with too many arms and teeth_. The decade in the Shire shows with his hesitation, but the centuries of quick reactions and memories of war that cause him strife force his muscles into action. With a swift _avada kedavra_ the foul creature is dead, and a flick of his wrist and a muttered _alohomora_ causes the dwarven gate to open, regardless of whatever password it needed this time.

Inside, an orc horde dwells.

In the depths of the mine – for it is not a pass, and nor is it a road – a fearsome creature of fire breathes.

Teddy does not hesitate to destroy both, and bring light to the great dwarven to city.

And then he leaves as she, and locks the mountain with a ward that only she might open – or perhaps, an Istar, if they’re strong enough. No need to leave such a stronghold open to orc infiltration. She pities any dwarves that might try reclaiming their barren, silver-shining home, but she is going home, and _dammit_ , she is going to marry Thranduil.

From Drimrill Dale, to Lothlorien. The Lady of Lorien stares at her, and her mental shields scream in protest, but Teddy does not give in and leaves the Golden Wood in a stream of fire, hair crimson in anger. She sails up the Anduin to the West River, returning home before journeying to the Northern Greenwood with little more than a by-your-leave. The elven king there sees her, and apologises on behalf of Galadriel’s magic, for which she can still only control with slight instruction.

“That’s fucked up,” she says in English, speaking her home language for the first time in years. Thranduil takes her in his arms, and Teddy wraps her hands around his neck, twisting in his long, white-blonde locks. “That’s fucking _fucked up._ No-one should have to deal with that kind of _curse_.”

Thranduil lifts her up, cradling her, passing by the Lorien elf, his council, his guard, and Legolas, who stares at her in confusion, and takes her to his private chambers. His magic and her magic soundproof the room, and lock it from all intruders, Helper and Arda Elf alike. Under the canopy of his bed, his glamours fade, and dragon fire-scarred skin is revealed to her in its entirety. He is war-torn, and she is tired – Teddy is _so, so tired._

He marries her, and she marries him. Eleven moons later, under wards thrice more powerful than they’d ever been, Princess Vika Thranduilion, of Amon Cardhon, of the Veil Loch and of the Baggins Clan and Royal Lupin Line, is born. Representatives from North Greenwood, Lothlorien, Tower Village, Mount Gundabad, Rivendell and the Shire come bearing gifts at her naming ceremony, the next year, and Teddy is never more happy than she is when Bilbo and Thranduil meet, and Bilbo scrutinises the King in a way only a hobbit could.

“Can you make her apple pie?” He asks, as if the answer to that question wasn’t a given in the Shire.

Legolas nearby chokes on his wine, and Teddy puts a hand on her mouth, containing laughter – for if Thranduil does know, then Bilbo will ask him to prove it, with witnesses. If he doesn’t, well…

Thranduil better be prepared to be evicted from Castle Amon and disallowed access to his daughter for a full month.

“Why do you ask?”

“Because if you can’t make her apple pie, then you will not provide her anything other than apology, once a day, every day, for twenty nine days, until it is proper for her to forgive you.”

Legolas looks to Teddy for an explanation, and Teddy shrugs, twisting Vika on her hip and wondering if it was appropriate to announce a second child that would arrive in little under eight month’s time at her daughter’s naming ceremony.

“Hobbit courting method, the simplest one ever – a parent asks the suitor if they can bake an apple pie. If you can, congrats, you’re part of the family. If you can’t, then you have to beg forgiveness, because it proves you can’t even make the easiest dish in a hobbit’s repertoire, and therefore have no ability to provide for any family you wish to make. The forgiveness part is because, as it turns out, some hobbits are hopeless at apple pie, but are the best in their hobbit-craft, such as weaving, or gardening. Usually, they’d rate you on the bouquets you’d bring each night, and the ones you brought during actual courtship – the parents, I mean.”

“So…if father does not pass Mr Baggins’ test, then he is not allowed to be in your life? In Vika’s life?” Legolas’ eyes widen, and nearby eavesdroppers gasp.

“No,” Bilbo interrupts their conversation, having finished talking with Thranduil, who had begun listening to Teddy’s explanation. “He can be in Vika’s life regardless of whether they court or not, though it _is_ up to the mother, obviously. However, if I do not approve of Dora forgiving him for his lacking, then they may not court. At all. And they may not repeat courting trials for another three summers.”

“I must beg forgiveness then, for elves aren’t taught how to bake, let alone kings,” Thranduil himself, at this point, doesn’t seem to understand anything coming out of his own mouth, making strange faces at every word he says. Bilbo hums lowly, before pointing at Teddy.

“Twenty-nine days. Starting tonight.”

“Yes, Da,” Teddy promises, before passing the wiggling Vika to her father, who smiles widely at her. “Now – Brynhilde!”

The next spring, Princess Ophelia of Amon Cardhon is born, and the next naming ceremony brings representatives from the dwarven clans, as the Helpers improve the trading relations, and Teddy creates a new town within her borders, on the southern side of the lake, and a new road to go with it, leading down towards and into Rohan. All are invited to come, and Helpers reach their influence further than ever before, venturing through Rohan and into Gondor. Teddy’s kingdom gains loyal peoples, and becomes a centre-point of trade in the East, which the woodland elves had shrunk away from being.

Vika and Ophelia are treasures to Teddy. Both grow at the rate of humans, and so therefore, she feels safe in leaving the walking and talking youngsters – respectively six and five years each – with Thranduil when she receives a message from her Da, via Maggy the Helper, about being dragged on a quest to reclaim Erebor. She goes to Bag-End, and deals with the Shire business surrounding it, assuring Fortinbras that _no, your grandson of some relation is not dead and will not be dead by the end of his adventure if I have any part in it._ She also inscribes a ward into the inside of his door, specifically against thieves.

Lobelia has already nicked three silver spoons, and Teddy takes them right back, with a jelly-legs jinx as revenge.

However, it’s hard to track someone who had left behind his handkerchief – the one Teddy had specifically told him to take should he ever go on an adventure, or an impromptu journey to Castle Amon, due to the embroidered tracking charm and embroidered wards of protection that would make his journey so much more comfortable. Teddy resorts to point-me spells, and some difficult long-range apparation. Eventually she finds him.

Eventually, she tracks him down.

Eventually, _she discovers him just as he falls through the floor of a cave into Goblin Town_.

Teddy doesn’t hesitate to summon the Watch, who have been trying to locate Goblin Town for many, many years now, but never succeeding due to simply how large the Misty Mountains were. Blinky at their head, they invade, and Teddy finds herself running alongside a dwarf of some calibre, with tattoos on his balding head, and thick hands that grasped axes rather fetchingly. If she wasn’t technically married to Thranduil already, she might have made a move.

As it was, the two of them are surrounded by other dwarves, and one tall man in grey robes and a wizard hat, holding a staff. Teddy correctly assumes this is the infamous Gandalf.

When they exit the goblin caves, they rush down a hill, only stopping when out of range of any arrows the sun-fearing goblins might shoot. Teddy counts thirteen dwarves and one Istar, but no Bilbo Baggins. It seemed that most were in agreement with her about that matter, worrying over his location.

All but one.

“I’ll tell you what happened,” says the head of the dwarven company darkly. “Master Baggins saw his chance and he took it. He’s thought of nothing but his soft bed and his warm hearth since he first stepped out of his door! We will not be seeing our hobbit again – he is _long_ gone.”

Teddy took all the blame for her next, impulsive action.

Stepping forwards, she grabs one of the knives sticking out of the blonde dwarf’s coat, holding it to the dwarf’s throat, grabbing his shirt to keep him still, magic freezing him where he stood.

“Say that again, I _dare_ you.”

“Who are you?” The dwarf glares, muttering, “Where did you come from?”

“She was in the tunnels!” The tattooed dwarf exclaims, growling, “Should’a known she was a bad ‘un.”

“I would rather know who she is than where she’s from,” Gandalf raises his voice, meeting Teddy’s eyes. “Who are you, stranger?”

Teddy’s eyes flash amber for the first time since she appeared in Arda, werewolf in her stirring, awakening, so close to howling.

“I am the Guardian of Veil Loch, ruler and creator of Tower Village and Lochside, founder of the Walled Kingdom, and Queen of Amon Cardhon. I am Theadore Lupin, Mánrís of the Southern Greenwood, and Dora Baggins of the Shire – and I will not see my father treated so unkindly by an upstart dwarf who can’t even be bothered to be short like the rest of his king.”

There’s a short silence after her words, and if it were a movie, Teddy could just imagine some victorious-sounding music, fit for a queen. Strings: a bass cello, and percussion and brass, and screaming sharps from violas with irregular time signatures, but with a mellow countermelody so different from the forefront of it that she’d squeeze her eyes shut at the pain.

“I’m still here, Thorin.” Teddy and the Company whip their heads around at the sight of Bilbo, standing calmly beside a tree. “Dora, let him go, or you’ll be committing regicide.”

“Reg- oh, _hell no_ , Erebor, of-fucking-course.” Teddy lets go of Thorin sharply, pointing the knife at his nose instead. “Thorin, as in Thorin Oakenshield. Legolas said it in passing, once, but didn’t elaborate. I wasn’t that interested in it, anyway. Something about Moria, and Thror. Well, let me tell you something – I don’t care. I don’t give a damn about you, or your quest. If you hadn’t just insulted my _father_ , then maybe I might have considered helping you anyway, without my Da having to convince me-”

“I’ve signed a contract.”

“-and I’m helping you now. Who knows what my father’s signed away.”

“My life, probably,” Bilbo interjects. Teddy looks at him sharply, pointing the knife at him now.

“If you _die_ , your grandchildren will never forgive you.”

Bilbo shrugs, looking to his feet, “Oh, I’m sure they would miss me, but-”

“Bilbo, you have _grandchildren?_ ” Another member of the company questions, sounding awed. His hat is lopsided, and his charcoal hair in thick braids barely visible beneath said hat, but Bilbo smiles at him, and Teddy feels like he’s a kind soul, and tucks the knife in her belt, elbowing the blonde she’d taken it from in the face as he tries to take it back.

“Yes, I do, though they’ve never graced the halls of Bag-End – too busy running around that castle of theirs.”

“You are royal,” Thorin breathes, staring at him. Teddy quirks an eyebrow.

“No, that’s me – I made my own crown. My servants did, at least. They’re very proud to call me their queen rather than their lady now.”

Bilbo steps forward, patting her arm. “Quiet now, Dora. I need to say something.” Teddy falls silent, watching her father as he draws in a deep breath, before speaking.

“Look, I know you doubt me, I know you always have. And you’re right. I often think of Bag End. I miss my books. And my armchair. And my garden. See, that’s where I belong. That's home. I don’t belong out in the wilderness, or in a castle between two elven realms,” he looks to Teddy at that, smiling softly, both remembering every time she had tried convincing him to live with her. “That’s why I came back, ‘cause you don't have one. A home. It was taken from you – but I will help you take it back if I can.”

“…thank-you,” Thorin replies, in a quiet, genuine voice. “I would offer my apologies, for what I said.”

“Leave it, it’s okay,” Bilbo smiles, motioning to Teddy. “It’s not me you have to earn the forgiveness from, now.” He pats Thorin’s arm consolingly as he walks past, calling for Gandalf, for a moment. Thorin looks to Teddy, who looks down on him with cold eyes.

“My father is a kind man, who has greed for naught that I know but respect, and family. I have no idea who you are, so don’t expect me to treat you like anything less than I see – you haven’t earnt a single thing from me, least alone my respect. Somehow, my father believes you are good, and I can see that he truly does believe it – but I have seen you thinking and speaking rashly, without thought nor reason nor rhyme. Learn to hold your tongue.”

“Learn how to hold _your_ tongue-” a young dwarf starts, before the blonde dwarf hits him on the chest.

“Leave it, Kili,” he hisses, causing Teddy to raise an amused eyebrow.

“You know, I have an odd feeling you’d get along with Tauriel – she’s quite the backtalker, too, when she wants to be.”

“Sounds like an elf name,” notes an older dwarf of the company.

“That’s because she is,” Teddy says dryly, Thorin growling slightly.

“My nephew shall meet with no elf.”

“Elves aren’t so bad, after you get past their hard shells – just like Lindt chocolate, Merlin, I miss that stuff,” Teddy sighs, before walking away from the group, towards where Bilbo and Gandalf were conversing.

“-and I, uh, well, I won the game, because he couldn’t guess it.”

Gandalf raises a bushy grey eyebrow, “And what _was_ in your pocket, Bilbo Baggins?”

Teddy comes up beside her father, and senses it’s somehow at the exact wrong time, as her father fumbles with whatever item is in his pocket. Teddy bemusedly leans down, lifting her father up with one arm, causing him to squawk as she dips a hand into his pocket, taking out a golden ring thrumming with heat – heat so hot that Teddy lets go of her father, dropping to her knees.

“ _Circe and Hekate, what is this?_ ” She hisses, eyes wide as she stares at the ring, feeling a darkness begin to encroach her from all sides, the same darkness that she banished so many times from either end of the Greenwood, and from Radagast the Brown; the same darkness that orcs and goblins carried with them.

“Drop it!” Gandalf orders, before whipping his staff through the air, knocking it from her hands. “Do not touch that ring!”

Teddy gasps, dropping back onto the forest floor, Bilbo rushing to her, taking her- his, head in his hands. Teddy feels himself lose all strength, feels every morph fade, until he’s left with honey-blonde hair, and silver scars, black tattoos of dragons and moons and dogs and a single badger with the Hufflepuff scarf flying across his skin. His eyes flicker between amber and blue, before settling on amber, as the wolf roars inside, adrenaline pouring through his veins-

Her veins, _her_ veins. She pushes her morphs back into place, the most comfortable ones she can think of – the ones where she has turquoise hair and her eyes are emerald, Evans green. Her mothers nose rests beside freckled cheeks, and long lashes bat against tan skin, even as her eyes thin and turn down.

“Da- Da, it’s evil, it’s evil, it’s evil-”

“Shh, Dora, shh,” he whispers, stroking her hair as the dwarves rush over, Gandalf pushing away the leaves and dirt from around the One Ring. “Shh, you’re going to be fine, you’re going to be absolutely _fine._ ”

A month later, she’s lying in her chambers in Castle Amon, Vika and Ophelia curled up into her stomach. Thranduil lays beside her, and Legolas is snoring softly on the chaise lounge. Gandalf proclaims that it is now even more vital for Erebor to be retaken, and it will be. Durin’s day approaches, and Bilbo is acting in her proxy in Laketown, ordering around Helpers so as to rebuild Esgaroth and Dale as silently as they can, trying not to reawaken the dragon. Teddy will be needed to cast wards over both cities, before they enter the Lonely Mountain and wake Smaug, for it would be a waste to rebuild them only for dragonfire to burn them down.

Thranduil leans over her to stroke Vika’s dark brown hair – she looks like her maternal great grandmother, _she looks so much like Nanameda. So much._ In comparison, Ophelia is all Thranduil, with long, sweeping blonde hair and pointed elven ears. They dress in elven leggings and silken wizarding wear, with tight, warm, long-sleeved shirts that lace at the collar, and long flowing cloaks with special enchanted clasps that came from the Northern Greenwood Treasury, that did not need polishing, and would not unlatch except by the wearers own fingers. And shoes – well, what shoes?

Replanting Teddy has had more of an effect on Vika and Ophelia than it has on Teddy, seen through the example that is their tough, small feet, which were decorated with only the thinnest lengths of hair.

“We both need to go north,” Teddy murmurs as he rests his head on her arm. “I need to go to Esgaroth and Dale, and you need to prepare the Northern Greenwood, should Smaug not be shot down. But Vika and Ophelia cannot be in either land.”

“And neither must they be without at least one of us,” Thranduil motions to Legolas, “Legolas could stay.”

“He would never forgive you if you forbade him from seeing the dragon in such a way,” Teddy replies, sitting up and kissing him softly. “I do not know what to do, my friend.”

Thranduil presses a soft kiss to her dry lips, before pressing their cheeks together tenderly. “I can sense it.”

“So can I.”

“Is it odd that I wish for another daughter to spoil?”

Teddy laughs silently between them, wrapping her arms around him, hugging him tightly. “Not at all, _mellon-nin._ It means I can make this a female monarchy. Did you see my new crest that my Helpers have carved into about every available surface and material?”

“I did. I did not suspect you would choose wolves.”

“I didn’t – and they aren’t wolves, they’re Grims. Two Grims, omens of death, for my mother, and for the person who would have been my father’s husband, had he not died. The book is for my father himself. The sword is for me.”

“And the triangle?”

Teddy shuts her eyes, and thinks of what it means to be the Mistress of Death.


End file.
